The Disturbed, The Deranged, And The Dangerous
by Everyone's Favorite Rebel Scum
Summary: Gotham University's strangest professor gets a new teacher's assistant.
1. Chapter 1 Everything Happens to Me

Okay people, this is my second fic. Please, please, please, read and review. Comments and any other criticism are accepted with open arms. I love you all!

Mo

Alright! Re-uploaded, and stuff!

Chapter 1 

**Everything Happens To Me.**

August Macgregor walked through the ancient stone archways of Gotham University. She relished these little private walks, where she could study the fine stonework and the elegant trails of ivy hanging from the walls. August checked her watch briefly, noting that she had half an hour until her interview. It had been a gift from a friend who knew her well, and it featured Darth Vader on the watchband, and the Star Wars logo on the face.

The position of teacher's assistant was a popular one at Gotham U, and one that paid a small salary. But in return for the long hours, the students got to learn the particular ins and outs of the college better than anyone, and so succeeded far more than most other students.

August sighed contentedly as she sat down on a cold stone bench and took a large sketchbook from her messenger bag. She brushed a short strand of dark hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, and started to sketch a column covered with a thin strand of creeping green foliage.

August was an Art History major with a minor in Culinary Arts. She had wanted to attend military school like her father, but after he passed away the desire went with him. He had always ruffled her hair and told her that someday she would be an ace at whatever she did, whether it was flying planes or trimming hedges. He would always encourage her to do what made her happy, and she had continued to let that be her life's goal.

August shook herself out of her dreamy reverie, and glanced at her watch again. She had two minutes to make it across campus.

"Oh great."

She quickly shoved her sketchbook and pencil into her bag, and started jogging at a furious pace. She burst into the swinging doors of the dean's office and sat down next to the dozen other students waiting for their interviews. August glanced at her watch yet again, as she smoothed down her hair and her black t-shirt. She had made it with thirty seconds to spare. A moment later, a door down the hallway banged open, and a stern female voice called down the corridor. "Macgregor, August."

August stood up, and the girl next to her murmured, "good luck"

"Thanks, you too"

The interview room was filled with professors seated at a long table, most of whom she recognized. She sat down in the cold metal folding chair, trying to hide her nervousness with a crooked smile.

"Now August," the Dean began, "I understand you're majoring in Art History, with a minor in Culinary Arts."

"Yes sir."

" I presume that you'd like to be a teacher's assistant for either of these positions. Are there any other classes you'd be interested in T.A.-ing for?"

"Anything but math. I'm horrible at math."

"Very well. The results will be posted tomorrow on the office doors. You're finished."

The next day, Friday, August nearly ran from her dorm to the front of the Dean's office. She searched for a minute for her name among the hundreds of others, and finally found it. She glanced at the professor's name, assuming it would be Mr. Espinoza, the Art History professor, or Mr. Merck, the Culinary Arts head chef and teacher.

She was mistaken.

"I can't believe they put me with the _Psychology _Professor! They must hate me or something! I barely know _anything_ about psychology!" she complained loudly to her roommate, Marie.

"Didn't you take a year long course in it during high school?"

"But I'll be working with a psychiatrist! Someone who _teaches_ the class! I'm going to feel like an idiot."

"Well, just bite the bullet, and if it's too rough, you can always quit."

"… Thanks babe"

"No problem. Now go out there and lighten up that professor. I'm sure he's a drag. Don't forget these." Marie handed August her headphones and iPod.

"Thanks, _Mom_"

August narrowly missed getting hit by a vengeful pillow on her way out the door. Marie was such a motherly type, always able to listen to her problems and she was good at cheering people up. Her whole floor referred to her as the dorm mom, and always came to her with questions and concerns.

August walked from her dorm room towards the Medical and Science Wing, and eventually found the Professor's office. It was around 5:oo when she rapped lightly on the door, and it was soon answered by a skinny man with jet-black hair and glasses over icy blue eyes.

"Ah, you must be Miss Macgregor."

"Yes sir. Mr. Um…"

"It's Doctor actually, Crane."

"Doctor Crane. Pleasure. I'm sure it'll be an adventure."

August briefly looked him over. He was just a bit taller than her, and good-looking in a nerdy sort of way. His eyes were very striking, an almost surprisingly deep, cold, blue. His office was small but comfortable, with dark wood and masculine leather chairs. The very large desk that took up much of the space was strewn with papers, but they were semi-organized in some type of system.

August sat down in a leather chair facing the large desk, and crossed her legs politely. She had chosen to wear an elegant pinstriped pair of pants and a v-necked black top, so as to appear semi-professional for her first day of work. It had been a really funny scenario looking for some clean clothes in her room, all while Marie was making suggestions and throwing articles of clothing at her.

"What _is_ this, Marie? Do you _want _me to look like a hooker?"

"Honey, you look like a hooker in everything."

"Thanks. So very much."

August mentally shook herself, and returned her mind to the office.

"So, Doctor, what is it exactly that I'll be doing?" She smiled lopsidedly at him, trying to hide her disappointment at her assignment. "_This guy looks almost too young to be a doctor…" _August thought to herself.

The Doctor paused for a moment, and then turned around from the filing he was completing.

"Mostly filing papers, not grading essays, I hear that you've not taken any psychology classes."

"I could always check them for grammar and spelling."

"Good point." Crane smiled awkwardly and adjusted his glasses, averting his eyes from hers to the current essay on his desk. "I'm sorry you didn't get one of the positions that you wanted. I trust you know why."

"Er, not really."

"Well. Let's say some professors tend to choose students that are more, shall we say, _involved_." The Professor smirked, letting the remark sink in.

"Oh. As in… oh. Well, that would explain it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I'm not a big proponent of sleeping with professors."

"Neither am I."

Crane shuffled papers around on his desk for a moment, and shoved a stack over to her side, with a red ink pen neatly placed on top. August took the stack and began to delve into her first assignment: correcting one hundred papers on the same subject that she knew absolutely nothing about. She clicked on her iPod and slid the Sony headphones around the back of her neck. She selected Johnny cash, and got to work.

An odd, yet pleasant silence ensued, which was broken only by the scratching of pens. That was, until August hit the pause button and lifted one side of the headphones off of her ear.

"Um, professor, may I trouble you with a question?"

"That depends on the question."

"What exactly is Munchausen Syndrome By Proxy? I've heard of just plain Munchausen syndrome, but… "

Crane cleared his throat and began his explanation, in what August thought to be a rather superior tone.

"Good question. In Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, a caregiver, usually the mother, feigns or induces an illness in another person, usually his or her child, to gain attention and sympathy as the "worried" parent. Although MSbP cases with feigned or induced physical illness receive the most attention, it is also possible in parents who emotionally abuse their child, then claim psychiatric and/or genetic problems."

"So a mother could, hypothetically, give her child too much asprin, and make the poor kid sick, just to get attention."

"Exactly."

"That's Fun"

"I suppose you could put it that way."

"Oh, Doctor, can I come a little late on Thursday? I have a chiropractor's apointment, and believe me, I won't be able to get another one for quite a while."

"That's fine with me… I would have pegged you as too young to have a bad back."

August didn't quite know what to say to that, and so just went on correcting her papers. Her Chiropractor had told her a few years ago that her back problems were because of her breasts, and he had urged her to get breast reduction surgery. She tried losing weight, but they still wouldn't go away. After checking out the costs and risks of surgery, she decided that it wasn't worth it, and so constantly lived with the stares, and people talking to her chest rather than her face. August had earned a reputation as a tough girl in high school because she frequently got into fistfights with certain lecherous boys. She smiled to herself as she pictured a schoolyard victory. The silence returned, and the two sat like that until about 7:00.

August, of course, was the first to break the silence.

"How about some dinner? I have the keys to the kitchen…" she said enticingly.

"Alright."

"Are you hungry for anything in particular?"

"Not really."

"Well then we'll just have to see what's around in the kitchen."

They walked together liesurly in the dark, apparently at ease with each other. The pair would occasionally pass students in the archways making out, and Dr. Crane would yell at them to "Break it up." August would snicker, and then they would return to their silence.

Once they reached the culinary arts building, August reached for her keys, but the door swung open as soon as she put her hand on it.

"That's odd… normally no one is here at this hour."

They continued into the hallway, and turned into a door marked : _Test and Demonstration Kitchen._ August pushed the door open and stopped suddenly, letting a small, startled gasp escape her lips.

Dr. Crane walked into her by accident.

"Ow. What's the matter?" he asked quietly. Crane pushed her to the side silently, and he too was slightly put off by what he saw across the room.

A half-dressed blonde girl was being smashed onto the gleaming stainless steel of one of the kitchen counters by none other than 50-year-old Mr. Merck, the Culinary Arts head chef and teacher. She was giggling and moaning like a porn star, and he was enjoying it immensely.

When Crane turned to look at August, her face was twisted into an expression of bewilderment and disgust, her mouth gaping at the sight. Crane, being a teacher, had of course come across situations similar to this, and the sight didn't seem to phase him in the slightest.

"Come along Miss Macgregor, we can.. Er…order takeout."

"They're… _Eating _each other."

Crane grabbed her arm and walked her out of the doorway and down the hall. August continued to be speechless. Finally, when they had gotten back outdoors, she spoke.

"_Gross._"

"My thoughts exactly."

"I feel like I need to take a chemical shower."

The Doctor put his hand on her shoulder comfortingly, though his expression remained cool and impassive. His expression almost disturbed her, as though he didn't care, and never had cared about another human being.

"Do you need to talk about it? I _am_ a psychiatrist, you know."

"Um, I don't think I'm … up to it right now."

"That's okay. You go home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. Good night"

August had made it more than halfway to her dorm when she realized that she had left her bag in The Doctor's office. She let out an exasperated sigh, and turned around, starting to jog back to the Medical and Science Wing.

Suddenly, she slammed into something soft.

It was Mr. Merck.


	2. Chapter 2 Learnin' The Blues

Chapter two, hope you enjoy it! Chapter 2 

**Learnin' The Blues**

Mr. Merck reached around and grabbed August by the collar of her shirt, smashing her against one of the ancient stone pillars.

"What did you see?", he demanded in a low, dangerous voice.

"What are you… talking about?" August was gasping for air, the professor had crossed his forearm over her throat, restricting her breath. Mr. Merck was a tall, lean man, one of the few Gotham professors who had aged gracefully. It was rumored that he worked out at least once a day, sometimes twice, and August now knew the rumors were true. The professor gave her a leering smile, relishing the control he had over her.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you little bitch. And if I hear _anything_ about it from the Administration, I'll know who told them."

With that remark, he removed his arm and let her fall. She landed hard on the cold concrete walkway, and sat there for some time, staring into the darkness with blank eyes.

As soon as Crane had made it back to his office, he saw the black messenger bag and rolled his eyes.

"_Undergraduates_" he sighed to himself, picking up the bag and striding down the hallway. With any luck, she was running back toward him, and would meet him halfway.

As he walked outside into the cool night air, the full moon illuminated the campus. Soon he came upon two red converse-clad shoes. He peered around the pillar and his cold blue eyes met the frightened amber ones of August Macgregor.

"Miss Macgregor? What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing," she said in a hollow voice. She tried to smile, but her lopsided grin had lost its usual snarky personality.

"Nothing. I don't think that huge red mark across your neck is 'nothing.'"

"I don't want to talk about it."

The professor raised an eyebrow at her, but decided to pursue another course of action.

"I have your bag."

"Thank you, professor."

"Come along, let's go back to my office." He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a standing position. "We'll have some tea. Talk things over." He could feel the waves of pure fear radiating off of her, it was fantastic. He put his arm around her waist, leading her down the walkway.

"Do have anything stronger than tea?"

"Such as?"

"Scotch. Whiskey. Turpentine."

"I'm afraid not."

They limped along to the office in silence, with the occasional sharp intake of breath from August when her throat twinged in pain. Crane nudged open the office door with his foot, and sat her down on the leather sofa. He put a blanket around her shoulders, and sat down in his desk chair, propping up a legal pad against his legs, which were resting on the desk.

"Alright. What happened?" Crane asked in his usual cool voice.

"He attacked me."

"Who attacked you?"

"Mr. Merck."

"I see. And did he say anything?"

"He said, 'if I hear _anything_ about it from the Administration, I'll know who told them.'"

"Now what did he mean by that?"

"You know. You saw it too."

"Ah, yes. _That_ incident. Now, Miss Macgregor, are you scared?"

"Yes."

"Why are you scared?"

"I think he'll kill me."

"Do you want to go home?"

"No! I want to stay here!" she looked into his eyes pleadingly. Crane suppressed a smile; her fear was practically intoxicating. No, he couldn't let her see his pleasure. Ah, but what a fantastic feeling of power that fear gave him.

She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. "Please don't make me go! Please!…"

She broke down into sobs, and covered her face with her hands.

"It's alright. I won't make you leave. Calm down."

"But he's going to _kill_ me!" she kept crying quietly, and curled up on the couch, hugging her black bag to her chest. Meanwhile, Crane walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid, a pair of latex gloves, and a syringe. With a practiced hand, he drew enough liquid into the syringe to put her to sleep for 15 hours, and flicked the needle expertly.

"Now Miss Macgregor, I'm going to give you a mild sedative. It'll put you right to sleep." He walked over to the young woman, taking her right arm and rolling up the sleeve of the black shirt. August didn't protest, and he soon found the vein and administered the drug.

"Try to relax."

August did as she was told, and soon her eyes closed and her head lolled heavily to one side. Crane took the opportunity to grab her bag, and rapidly its contents were spilled out onto his desk. He leafed through the sketchbook. It was good, but not the best sketchbook he had ever laid eyes on. There were many studies of animals, and architecture of the school. Soon he came upon some nudes, and these caught his attention. They were spectacularly done, almost lifelike in their contours. All along the margins were quotes from movies and lyrics from songs, scribbled in an almost illegible hand. There were fashion designs too, and notes on construction, patterns, and fabric types.

Crane drew his attention to large, swelling bruise on her neck. He had to admit she was pretty to look at, if the red band across her throat was discounted. His eyes traveled over her curves, noting her approximate height and weight on his legal pad. He surveyed the legs sticking out from beneath the blanket. Jonathan had always been a leg man.

No, better to get back to work.

What was it about her… she was just so… normal. And she treated him like a person. Not a Professor, or a Doctor, though she addressed him as such. Almost like a… friend. Not that he needed a friend. Jonathan had never needed friends.

At least he kept telling himself that.

Doctor Crane was famous at Gotham University for never showing any interest in the opposite sex, (or the male sex, for that matter). He was one of the few professors that hadn't had an affair with a student. Rumors flew around the campus; some people wondered whether or not he had even kissed a girl.

He probably should not have drugged her, but there was nothing that irked him more than hysterically crying young women

He mused over the sketchbook for a while longer, making notes on his paper; she seemed to have a fascination with Greek letters and the card suits. Upon She liked all sorts of music, and the makers and pens she used were of artist quality.

The Doctor glanced quickly at his watch, and decided to get down to work. He stepped quietly over to a locking file cabinet and produced the key from his pocket, taking out an immense binder filled with notes. It was his Fear Toxin formula, his life's work that had to be protected at all costs. Crane often sat up nights working on it, and he didn't feel comfortable just _leaving_ the girl on the couch dead to the world. Someone might take advantage. And despite his need to be indifferent, he felt bad for her. She was only about 5 years younger than he, and still she seemed so much … happier. She hadn't yet experienced the true pain that changes young people onto tired, disheartened ones, like he had. Crane wondered what it would be like to never have experienced the urge to kill another human being, to never feel the sick pleasure that he took in it. It was a paradox, he found great satisfaction in inflicting pain on others, and he hated himself for it. It was disgusting.

Crane shook his head again.

"_Mustn't think of that incident. There's no changing the past."_

He put his mind back onto his work.

August groaned as the light from an unfamiliar window hit her eyes. She realized that she was in the same clothes she had worn last night, and she couldn't remember whose couch she was on, or where in the world she was, for that matter.

A cool voice brought her to her senses.

"Good morning, Miss Macgregor. How do you feel?"

"Like shit. My throat hurts."

"As well it should. You have massive bruising across your neck."

"Oh good. I guess it's turtlenecks for me from now on."

"Here, your roommate brought this by," he threw a red turtleneck sweater into her lap.

"Marie came by? Did you call her? What time is it?"

"Don't worry. It's Saturday, You don't have any classes today."

"I'm going to have to change my Minor."

"Don't be idiotic. We'll get him fired. There's coffee for you on the table."

August took the cup off of the table.

"Thank you. For everything. And the coffee." She raised her cup in a mock toast, and took a drink.

Suddenly they were interrupted buy the loud ringing of the phone. Crane pressed the speakerphone button.

"Yes?"

"Doctor Crane, this is Dean Larson. Just calling to remind you about the University Benefit gala. It's at 8:oo sharp tonight; evening attire. It's imperative that you attend. You're one of the more well-known professors from the university, and I've already said that you're coming."

Doctor Crane was perfectly pleasant when speaking, but the slight look of disgust revealed his true emotions.

"Thank you for reminding me, sir."

"You're quite welcome. Oh, and doctor?"

"Yes sir?"

"Bring a date."

Crane started to say something in opposition, but was cut off by a click, followed by the droning of a dial tone.

_Great. Where in the hell am I going to get a date on such short notice?_

His eyes fell upon the young woman sitting on his couch, who was folding a paper airplane out of a piece of paper she had gotten off of the printer across from her. She threw it, and it hit him square on the forehead.

"Sorry."

"Me too."


	3. Chapter 3 The Way You Look Tonight

Chapter Three The Way You Look Tonight 

The sounds of a Big Band were wafting out of the ballroom of the estate at which the Benefit dinner was being held. The gala was raising money for new student housing at the University, as it was in great demand because of the difficulty of finding a house near the school. The oldest dorms were from the turn of the century, and included fireplaces and hardwood floors. But the ones that needed to be replaced were from the '7o's, which had been graffitied repeatedly and were literally falling apart.

Crane wondered why he was here. He suspected that the Dean and the other Professors had conspired to "get him out more". He scanned the outer corridor where the coat check was, looking for his teaching assistant. So far he had seen nearly half of Gotham's elite, but not any whom he would want to speak to.

Finally, he spotted her.

August was wearing a deep red dress, and was sporting a sophisticated hairdo. The bodice of the dress was a corset with black trim and lacing, and the skirt was a knee-length full swing style, with black tulle sticking out from the bottom. She truly looked stunning, and she had thoughtfully covered the bruise on her neck with thick black ribbon.

She waved at him cheerfully, and he waved back, taking a deep breath and composing himself for the rapidly approaching agony of being witty and chatty for two hours. He was almost glad that he had brought the girl, as she didn't seem to mind his usual cold demeanor. She walked over to him, her black heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. He took her arm in his.

"Shall we, Miss Macgregor?"

"Let's"

She smiled appreciatively at him. Soon they entered the ballroom, and August's mouth fell open in awe. The room was filled to capacity with people, all of them dressed in their finery. The decorations were nothing to scoff at either, and the wonderfully welcoming aroma of appetizers being served was irresistible.

"Oh wow. And you didn't want to come to this because _why?_"

"Never you mind."

"Fine, be that way."

"Wait here, I'll go get us some champagne."

"Ooh, fancy"

The doctor strode off toward the bar, and August stood and took in the sights, grabbing a few hors d'oeuvres when waiters passed by with plates full of them.

Crane showed up at her side again, and handed her a flute of the bubbling, amber liquid.

"Thanks."

"Well, guess what. Word has it that the elusive Bruce Wane is here tonight."

"Really? I wonder what he looks like."

"I'll point him out if I see him."

The dance floor was now thickly populated, as people had finished eating and were ready to dance. The band was excellent, and a famous young singer had undoubtedly been paid a large sum to be there. He had just burst into a rendition of "The Way You Look Tonight"

"Would you care to dance?"

"Yes!"

August loved to dance. He mother had insisted that she take lessons, and she spent long summer days during high school learning the steps to everything from salsa and tango to ballroom and swing. The Doctor was, to her surprise, not a horrible dancer, though she had to lead until he had gotten the hang of the steps.

After a few other songs, a tango rhythm started to play, and many people cleared off of the dance floor. Apparently, not many people knew how to dance the tango anymore, and August couldn't blame them, it was a very difficult dance to learn. She glanced at the Doctor.

"You don't know how to tango, do you?"

"I'm sorry, but no."

"It's alright"

August turned to go sit down with him, but a tap on he shoulder caused her to turn around. A tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair wearing an attractively cut tuxedo was standing there, smiling.

"Did I overhear that you know how to tango?"

"Yes..."

"May I have this dance?"

She glanced over at Crane, who nodded his consent.

The stranger was an excellent dancer, one of the best she had ever partnered with. His grip was firm, but not restricting, and he navigated his way around the dance floor with precision. Soon the two were surrounded by a ring of staring eyes, and people squeezing past others to get a better look at the action. They were indeed a sight, pacing up and down to the beat of the tango. The satin skirt was getting quite a workout, and August was starting to breathe a bit heavier. They turned, and he dipped her back and then led her into a magnificent spin, and then dipped her again as the song slowed to a close. August was breathless, but was smiling widely.

"Wow, That was great! Thanks!"

August shook the man's hand amicably, and then turned to go sit with Crane.

He was sipping his flute of champagne, looking slightly amused. August practically skipped over to him, glowing and breathless.

The doctor inclined his head towards her.

"Having fun?"

"Yes. See, this isn't so bad. You haven't even had to talk to anyone."

"Do you know who you just danced with?"

"Um… no. I forgot to ask his name…" August looked slightly flustered, as though this bothered her more than it should have.

"You really don't know who that is?"

"No, should I?"

"Miss Macgregor, you've just danced the tango with Bruce Wayne."

A few mundane weeks later, August had gotten into the routine of going to school, writing papers, going to more classes, and grading papers with the Doctor. Strangely, Mr. Merck had taken a leave of absence, and the rumor was that he had gone completely mad. August seriously doubted this was accurate; this sudden bout of insanity was almost too good to be true for her. She had asked the Doctor if he had heard anything about it, and he seemed to think that the professor had come down with an unusual case of schizophrenia. August had taken to asking Doctor Crane countless questions about mental illness; it interested her. Grading papers with him was always an educational experience, she learned more with Crane than she had in any of her classes.

But one Monday night, the Doctor was not there. She looked around and found that his office was completely empty, only the desk and the chairs remained. A white scrap of paper caught her eye. August felt her heart drop into her stomach. What if something had happened to him? Had there been an accident? A car crash?

She unfolded the white paper. A note had been scrawled on it in a cramped, angular hand.

Miss Macgregor,

This note is to inform you that I have been removed from my position here at the University. The Dean will contact you to find a new teacher to assist.

Prof. Jonathan Crane.

August slowly sunk down into one on the chairs. She stared at the letter in disbelief. What had he done to get fired?

The school was abuzz with the news that Dr. Crane had been "asked to leave". Word from the few students that had been in his class that Monday had spread around campus Apparently the professor had taken out a revolver from his desk during class, and had shot a flowerpot with it. Supposedly it was only to illustrate a point.

That was all August had been able to find out. She couldn't concentrate in her classes, and she had declined the offer to TA for another teacher. I couldn't ever be as good. It was odd, she thought of the professor as a friend, but August hadn't even known his first name until he had been fired.

No, that wasn't right. She had heard another professor boldly call him "John". This had apparently been too familiar a term, as the doctor had sharply corrected him.

"Jonathan." He had said, resentfully.

Staring into the darkness of her dorm room, August sighed.

"Jonathan"


	4. Chapter 4 Oh, Look At Me Now

**Chapter 4**

**Oh, look at me now**

* * *

**Four years later.**

August had been working in a popular European bakery, baking pastries and cakes for the rich glitterati of Gotham. She had always wanted to own her own bakery, but money was tight. Mostly she tried to save as much money as she could by walking everywhere instead of taking the bus or the train and eating things from work. It also didn't help that she had been mugged last Friday walking home to her studio apartment.

Tonight though, she wasn't going to her apartment. August walked down the wet sidewalk, hugging her long coat and thick scarf closer to herself, taking care not to smash the hot apple pastry concealed inside. Winter in Gotham was always freezing, and the drizzling rain only helped to worsen the seasonal cold weather.

August stopped at a familiar wrought-iron gate. Arkham Asylum always brought chills to her spine. She did not visit very frequently, for obvious reasons. It was a cold, dank place, with patients that would leer out at her from behind their barred or Plexiglas-covered cells.

The entrance hall was just as cold as it was outside, except for the rain. She strode through the metal detector, and headed toward the small booth where an unpleasant man was sitting. The sign over his head read, "Visitors must sign in". August told the man that she had an appointment to see one Jonathan Crane. He handed her a visitor's badge, which she pulled onto her neck. She checked her purse at the security guard's station, and proceeded toward the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor.

The security guard on the 7th floor tipped his hat to her in acknowledgement, and watched her walk down the hall to the chair he had provided for her in front of the patient's cell. He had noticed that she came in at the same time almost every week, and so had provided a chair for her, as normally visitors were forced to stand.

August stared straight down the corridor, forcing herself not to look at the patients. She only turned when she had reached the hard plastic chair, and her fiery amber eyes met with the steely blue ones of Doctor Jonathan Crane.

His face was waxy and white, and his cheekbones were more pronounced than they had been back at the University. But there still remained a tiny flicker of life behind his once engaging blue eyes, and that was the only reason why August visited the Doctor. She knew that deep down; there was some part of him that was still the same quiet, thoughtful, person.

But she could have been wrong to think that. She had been wrong many times before.

The doctor's frigid, metallic voice brought August rapidly out of her thoughts. His voice had changed; it had an unused quality about it. obviously he hadn't much occasion to use it since his incarceration.

"You're looking rather defeated today Miss Macgregor. And you also appear thinner than when we last met. Have you been eating?"

"Yes."

"Now don't lie to me. I can tell when you're lying. Why haven't you been eating?"

"Because I got mugged last Friday. They took my paycheck. I don't have any money."

The Doctor was silent. He sat down on the small chair in his cell, turning it to face her. August took out the warm pastry from her coat pocket, and carefully slid it through the slot meant for food.

"Thank you. This pastry is the only part of the month I look forward to. The food here is terrible."

"I'm sorry."

The Doctor was quiet for a moment.

"I need to get out of here, August. I'm going more insane than I already am."

"I don't know how I can help. The doctors say you're a danger to yourself and others."

He raised his voice considerably, "You have no _Idea_ what it's like, being locked up in your own institution! It's all the fault of that… that Batman!"

Before, an outburst like this would have terrified her, but she had gotten used to them after the visits. He wasn't as cool and calm as he used to be.

"No. It's your fault, Jonathan," she responded back.

She had noticed that calling the doctor by name seemed to calm him down, and so she used it frequently whenever he would get angry.

"You know Doctor, it's Christmas on Sunday. I thought I might give you your present early, as I won't be seeing you until after New Year's."

"You really needn't get me anything. I don't deserve it."

"You don't. But I'm giving it to you anyway."

August took out a thin, tissue-wrapped package, and slid it through the slot. Their fingertips brushed lightly, but it was enough to make August shiver.

"I'll save it until Sunday morning. Thank you… even the smallest things are appreciated in here. I'm the only one on this floor who ever gets a visitor, you know. "Perhaps you should stop visiting so often. I think some of the inmates are rather… jealous.

"They all whisper at night about you, wondering who you are. It's interesting to hear the theories." He smiled slightly, but it was a mocking smirk, full of bitterness.

"For example, that man across the hall, Jervis Tetch, I think is his name… he calls you Alice. He's quite mad you see, obsessed with the book Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Always spouting poetry… and that man next to me… dear God. He never shuts up about you… I think he's some type of sexual predator…"

"Miss, visiting hours are over, you're going to have to leave!" The friendly security guard called down the hall.

August adjusted her coat and stood up.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor Crane."

"Merry Christmas, Miss Macgregor."

* * *

When August finally reached her tiny apartment, she immediately turned on the space heater and started to undress, pulling flannel pants and a t-shirt from out of her dresser.

Suddenly she felt the frigid night air against her bare skin and heard a faint rustling sound, as if a large sheet had been thrown into the room. August turned around and her jaw dropped.

It was The Batman.

August wanted to say something, anything, but speech seemed to have been snatched from her by the hand of Fear.

He spoke in a deep voice, one that seemed somehow familiar and yet unlike anything she had ever heard before. It was a voice full of authority, one that commanded attention.

"How is he going to escape?"

Speech finally returned, though it was not at a normal volume, rather, it was about an octave higher than usual.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do. The Scarecrow told you that he was going to escape. I need to know how."

"I don't know! He didn't tell me!" she paused, and then lowered her voice. "How do you know what he said?"

"I have my sources."

August stared at him for a long while. His build, his features, his gait… if she could somehow remember who he was…

She stepped closer. He stepped backward.

"You and the Doctor are very much alike. You never let anyone get close."

On this note she stepped closer to the Batman, and reached out to close the window. His hand on her wrist stopped her.

With that firm, familiar grip, her suspicions were confirmed. August's eyes flickered knowingly up to the blue ones of the Batman. She smiled slyly, but then shivered as a cold gust of wind blew through the open window. The Batman took this as his cue to leave. He reached into his belt and pulled out a tiny rectangle, with a small green light in it.

"If he ever comes around, use this. I'll be there as fast as I can."

August stared at the small object, but when she looked up to say thank you, he was gone. The chill breeze was still blowing, and August reached out to close the window. Suddenly, she realized that she was completely freezing. She turned to look at the long mirror hanging on her apartment door.

"Oh. My. God. The Batman saw me in my bra."

* * *

hope you liked this chapter, I'm working hard on the next one!

oh, and cookies to anyone who can guess where I get the chapter totles from!


	5. Chapter 5 I Get Along Without You

alright! new chapter! enjoy.

oh, and thanks to all of my reviewers, you kept me motivated.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**I Get Along Without You Very Well**

It was the dead of night when Dr Jonathan Crane awoke to the tapping of fingers on his Plexiglas cell.

The person knocking (if you could call him a person), seemed to have a permanent evil grin plastered onto his face. The doctor took it all in, the shock of green hair, the pasty white complexion, bright red lips, purple suit, and henchmen standing close behind.

"The Joker."

"Ah, Johnny boy, so at last we meet."

Crane moved toward the glass, focusing his frigid gaze on the Joker.

"Why are you here?"

"I've a proposition for you, Johnny. I'll help you escape. But I want something in return."

"What?" he snapped icily. The price of freedom from the Joker would be high.

"I need you to help me develop a new chemical weapon. After you do, you're free to go. No strings attached."

Crane highly doubted the latter statement.

"And what if I decline?"

The Joker frowned, as though he was disappointed.

"I don't think that I've fully explained the situation to you, Johnny. You don't really have a choice in the matter. That is, unless you want your friend to die a horribly painful death…"

Friend? The Doctor mulled that sentence over in his mind. Did he have friends?

"What friend? I don't have any friends."

"Oh, I disagree. She visits you so often; it was easy to track her down. Not very willing to come with us, though…But don't worry John, we didn't do any permanent damage." The joker laughed.

Crane felt the blood drain from his face, but kept up his icy façade.

"I don't know what gave you the idea that Miss Macgregor was my _friend_… however, I accept your offer."

"Good…"

* * *

When one of the henchmen took off of the blindfold, the sight of a darkened corridor met Professor Crane's eyes. He had no way of knowing where he was or if August was injured, or dead for that matter. But, he wasn't in that cell anymore, and they had provided him with a fine change of clothes – a pinstriped Italian suit. It felt good to be back in the land of the living.

Two of the Joker's men flanked him of either side, and led him into a room filled with large amounts of chemicals, glassware, and anything else a good chemist would need to create a chemical weapon.

A large window caught his eye, and he walked slowly over to it. The room visible through it looked like an interrogation room from the set of Law & Order; he half expected to see policemen roughing up a suspect.

Instead, he saw the familiar, if severely battered, face of August Macgregor. She was bleeding from her nose and the corner of her mouth, and had the beginnings of a black eye. She was handcuffed to a chair, and looked to be sleeping.

One of the henchmen walked up behind him.

"She's a fighter, that one. Gave us a hell of a lot of trouble- she fuckin' bit me!" The man gestured at his forearm.

Crane laughed.

"Oh, believe me… you'll suffer much worse a fate… Much worse indeed."

The hulking figure standing next to the Doctor shivered involuntarily. Greg MacHeath had heard the Joker laugh before, which scared most people (except for him, of course). Why then, did this scrawny man's laughter and voice chill him to the bone? Perhaps because it carried a warning… No, he had been threatened with much more violent statements than that.

Oh, it was his eyes. They were icy blue, they flashed in pleasure at the thought of inflicting pain on another human being. Normally people just threaten others to make themselves feel powerful, or get something they want. Not this one though. No, he wanted to instill fear, to see his victims flinch.

Greg got out of that room as fast as he could without looking scared.

Jonathan Crane walked through the unlocked door into the interrogation room. Hopefully she was still alive.

Gingerly, he stepped over to August, and felt for a pulse in her neck. Thankfully, there was one.

Suddenly, her eyes opened.

"Hey…"

Her voice was thin and pained. She groaned and tried to get up, but found that she was still restrained.

"Good, you're conscious"

She sucked in a breath through her teeth, and then coughed hoarsely.

"This is some deep shit we're in, John. Deep shit."

Crane raised an eyebrow at her. He had never heard her call him John. Not that he minded, really. He brushed back a piece of brown, blood-encrusted hair from her eyes.

"Thanks." She coughed again.

Crane nodded.

"You know Doctor Crane, I think I'd get along without you _very_ well. This kidnapping stuff doesn't suit my health"

As if to illustrate her point, a fit of violent coughs wracked her body. The metal table in front of the chair was sprayed with blood. Crane knitted his brows in concern. This was definitely not a good sign. He grabbed the pristine white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his new suit and held it up to August's mouth.

Once she stopped coughing, the handkerchief was speckled with blood.

"Did one of those men injure your throat?"

August nodded her head.

"I'm sorry. You're probably going to keep coughing until you can get the appropriate medical attention - "

A crackling noise drew both pairs of eyes to a small speaker attached to the wall. The unmistakable voice of the Joker filled the room.

"Awwww, are the two lovebirds having a reunion? Sorry to interrupt, but it looks as though Johnny boy needs some motivation to get to work."

A door on the other side of the room opened, and three of the Joker's men stepped into the room. One walked over to the Doctor, grabbed his shoulder and steered him out of the room. Crane didn't fight back- what was the point of making a fool of himself and getting injured in the process?

The man closed and locked the door behind him, and pushed Crane over to the two-way mirror. He could still hear the Joker's ridiculous voice; apparently there was a speaker in the laboratory too.

"Well Johnny, I'm sure your girlfriend in there is regretting ever having met you."

Crane didn't doubt it. August was being slapped and backhanded by the men; one of them wrapped a large hand around her neck and she screamed in pain. She started coughing again, spraying blood on their clean white shirts.

"Is she coughing blood?"

Crane turned his glacial blue eyes toward the man next to him. It was the same one from before, the one whom August had bitten.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Throat injury. And possibly a broken nose. But I'm not a medical doctor."

"Is she gonna be okay?"

"I don't know."

Crane rested his forehead on an arm that was splayed across the glass. The other man, Greg MacHeath, noticed that the Scarecrow showed no emotion, just an icy cold manner, as though he had seen this all before.

That is, until one of the men started to unbutton August's filthy, bloodstained chef's jacket. Crane hissed angrily through his teeth, and Greg swore that he saw a fire blaze behind the Scarecrow's eyes.

The Joker's voice crackled over the intercom.

"Now, now Joe. Let's save that for later. I think you've persuaded the Good Doctor enough."

The man (whose name, apparently, was Joe) stopped unbuttoning her shirt, and both of the assailants left the room. August started coughing again, and this time, her nose and mouth were bleeding too.

Greg MacHeath gave a pained look towards the young woman in the chair, and followed his companions out the door. Crane heard the clicking of a lock, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to see August anytime soon.

"I suggest you hurry up with that formula Johnny. The sooner you finish, the sooner you and your girlfriend get to leave."

* * *

Crane had discovered pages and pages of notes on the large metal desk in the laboratory. Apparently the Joker had hired scientists previously, but they had failed to finish the job. Or perhaps the Joker had just killed them on a whim. Crane smiled at the thought of terrified chemists being murdered, but then shook his head.

No, get back to work.

There was no way of telling the time. There were no windows or clocks in the laboratory, and Jonathan hadn't owned a watch since before his imprisonment at the asylum.

Hours passed. Doctor Crane ran a hand violently through his dark hair, and scribbled chemical equations on the yellow legal pad in front of him.

There had to be a way to make this formula work.

The blood had long since dried on his handkerchief, and Crane wiped his forehead with it. He had the appearance of a man possessed, an internal fire blazing within, driving him to keep writing. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was a mess.

He heard August's hacking cough coming from the other room. The Doctor hoped that the injuries had stopped bleeding, otherwise…

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

I hope you liked it! don't forget to review, please. 


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